Scream, You Die (23 page)

Skender and Arjan parked their BMW close to a back-street garage in a residential area a few streets away from Brixton Station Road. There were only a couple of people around and no one gave them a second look as they each put on a baseball cap, pulling down the peak to hide away their eyes.

Skender hunched up the collar of his leather coat and set off at a trot, calling back over his shoulder, “We’ve only got half an hour max before this place is swarming with cops. Come on!”

Arjan picked up his pace, chasing after Skender awkwardly because of his bulk.

By the time they had arrived at the blue metal entrance to the old railway station Arjan was gasping for breath and sweating profusely.

Skender pressed a finger to his lips, signalling for Arjan to hold his breath. Then, taking a quick look around, slipped his fingers into the gap between the metal door and the wooden jamb. He tried to ease it open but it resisted and he had to give it a good tug, causing it to issue a long creaking noise. He paused for a second, listening. Hearing nothing he squeezed into the space he had made and found himself emerging into rubble-strewn waste ground. In front of him was the ballast remains where tracking had once been and that stretched to a raised platform on which was a dilapidated concrete waiting room. Where windows and doors had once been were now gaping holes. He set off at a sprint, crunching over the ballast and in a couple of seconds he had reached the old platform and hoisted himself up. He could hear Arjan wheezing behind him. Within a few more seconds he was entering the waiting room. He saw Andrius curled up in the far corner and stepped towards him.

The Lithuanian had been asleep but his eyes soon snapped open when Skender’s feet scraped over broken glass.

Skender saw the shocked look register in Andrius’s face and couldn’t help but produce a mocking grin.

Andrius pushed himself up into a sitting position, forcing his back against the concrete. “Skender!”

“Correct,” he replied menacingly, closing in on him. For a moment he stared down, shaking his head. Then, reaching down, he grabbed his jaw and squeezed.

Andrius cried out.

Skender locked his eyes upon the Lithuanian. “Andrius, you’ve let me down.”

Through a pinched mouth he spluttered, “I’m sorry, Skender. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I know you will.”

Behind, Skender heard Arjan arrive. He was way out of breath. He watched Andrius’s eyes dart from himself to Arjan and back. Skender saw the Lithuanian’s eyes widen as he swung them back to Arjan. He guessed that he had spotted what Arjan was carrying.

Andrius returned his gaze to Skender. His face was a mask of horror. “I promise I won’t say anything,” he machine-gunned out.

“I know you won’t.” Without warning he slammed a fist into Andrius face and his head rocketed backwards against the concrete.

There was a dull crack and Andrius sank to the floor.

Skender reached behind and Arjan offered up the green plastic container he was carrying. Skender unscrewed the lid and tipped it an angle, sloshing the liquid over Andrius’s head and shoulders.

The strong whiff of petrol soon filled the room.

Andrius spat out some of the petrol that had fallen into his mouth and in between chokes he screamed, “No! Please Skender! I won’t say anything! Honest!”

Handing back the container to Arjan, a sneer crept across Skender’s face. Stepping backwards he reached inside his coat and pulled out a zippo lighter.

Arjan’s eyes went wide with terror. “No!”

Skender flicked the lighter and instantly Andrius burst into flames.

“How the fuck did this happen?” DCI Diane Harris demanded angrily. She was looking down at the smouldering remains of Andrius Machuta. The fire brigade had put out his burning body ten minutes earlier, after receiving a 999 call from a passer-by on Brixton Station Road who had heard the screams. She turned away and exchanged glances with DI Taylor-Butler, Scarlett and Tarn. “This is no fucking coincidence,” she continued. “This is the second time someone of significance, connected to our investigation, has been murdered. This time it has to have been leaked by one of our own. Us and SO 19 are the only people who knew Andrius was here.” She set her sights on DI Taylor-Butler. “Hayden, I want a thorough investigation carried out. I want to know who the fucking mole is.” Then she stormed out of the smoke-reeking waiting room into the fresh cold air and stopped in the middle of the old platform. The DI, Scarlett and Tarn joined her.

Diane Harris surveyed the area slowly and then returned her gaze to the three members of her team. “I know there’s limited CCTV around this location, but someone must have seen something. The fire brigade said an accelerant was used on him. Most probably petrol. Whoever did this had to transport and then carry it here. Check out the streets nearby. See if anyone saw someone carrying a can or something similar. And check service stations within a two-mile radius. And get Forensics down here. I want this whole place going over with a fine-tooth comb.” She thrust her hands in her pockets and began walking towards the platform ramp. She called back over her shoulder, “Someone is going to pay for this!”

****

It was gone nine p.m. before Tarn dropped Scarlett off at home. It had been a long day with very little to show for it. Both teams were stretched to their limits, given that they now had four crime scenes, and DCI Harris had told them at evening briefing that she had put in a request for more resources. And although she had not aired it everyone knew that an internal investigation had begun, delving into the possibility that among them was a corrupt cop. The atmosphere in the incident room could have been cut by a knife, and no one had spoken as they filed out from briefing – the team had adopted a siege mentality. As she opened her front door she knew that the next few days were going to be difficult. She just prayed that the person who had betrayed them was not someone from her team. Now though, she still had things to do. She had to check in with Alex and catch up with her sister.

Scarlett took a quick swig of juice from the fridge, grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and ate it while she changed into her biking leathers. Then, uncovering Bonnie from beneath the plastic sheeting she wheeled her Triumph onto the road and set off to Alex’s. Given the time of night, traffic was comparatively light and there were a few moments when she could open up the bike; the whole time, though, she checked her rear to see if anyone was following. She still had the jitters following the comments made by Taylor-Butler that morning.

She made Alex’s place in twenty-five minutes, parked her bike next to his car at the rear of the block of maisonettes and took the back stairs to the third floor. Alex answered the door almost straight away bearing a welcoming smile.

Scarlett kissed him on the cheek. “Has she been okay?” she asked, stepping into the hallway.

“Absolutely fine,” Alex replied, closing and locking the door behind her. “We nipped into the city to get her a few more things; I also got her a phone.” He dropped his voice. “Did you know she’s never owned a mobile? I’ve spent this afternoon programming everything in and showing her how to use it.” He paused and added, “And she wanted to go to the squat.”

Scarlett’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry. She just wanted to catch up with them. Especially Gareth, and tell him she was okay and what was happening. They weren’t there though. The council have taken back possession of the house. I’ve promised her I’ll find out where they’ve gone. I’ve said we’ll go looking for them.”

Scarlett presented an anxious face.

Still speaking softly Alex said, “You’ve got to stop worrying, Scarlett. If she wanted to do a runner she would have done it by now. She had plenty of time this afternoon. She just wants to catch up with the people who she’s lived with for past eleven years. They’re the ones who’ve looked after her, remember.”

Scarlett relaxed. “I guess you're right.”

He touched her arm. “You’ve got to trust her.”

Scarlett nodded. “I know.” She unzipped her leathers, took off her boots and piled them in the hallway. “Thanks for everything you’ve done today. What do I owe you?” She walked towards the lounge.

“She spent just over a hundred on new things and ninety-nine quid for the phone. I didn’t get her a dear one. Just one with basic functions. I paid cash and I got a pay-as-you-go. I’ve registered it in a false name. I also got a couple of spare SIMs. I’ve shown her how to swap them. No one can trace it to her.”

“Thanks Alex. Much appreciated.” Scarlett entered the open-plan lounge. She always felt enthused to do something with her own house whenever she stepped into his place. In keeping with the 1930s building his interior was art deco inspired, with dark drapes covering floor-to-ceiling balcony doors and furnishings of chrome and Perspex with retro accessories. It was truly stylish. The only thing out of place was the wall-mounted large-screen TV playing a music channel. Nevertheless, it blended in well enough.

Rose was sprawled the length of the three-seater hide sofa. She looked like she’d made herself at home. She met her with a smile and flashed her mobile. “Hey Scarl, got myself a phone.”

“Yeah, Alex just told me.” She tapped her sister’s ankles, indicating for her to draw them up and then joined her on the sofa.

Rose said, “I wanted to ring you but Alex said you’d be busy. I’ve not been able to use it yet. Only a couple of the guys at the squat had phones but I don’t know their numbers.”

Alex slipped past into the open-plan kitchen. He took out a couple of glasses from a cupboard and set them down on the central island. “Drinks?”

“I’ll have a glass of wine,” replied Scarlett. “Just a small one. I’m on the bike.”

Rose said, “I’ll have a beer if you’ve got one.” Then, setting aside her phone, she asked Scarlett, “Had a good day? You’ve been a long time. Did you catch your mugger-cum-murderer?”

As Alex brought across the drinks and handed them round, Scarlett told them about the latest incident at the abandoned station.

When she’d finished, Rose shuddered. “Good God, Scarl, you deal with some right stuff. I don’t think I could stomach that. It’s like something from a horror film.”

Alex said, “I wouldn’t say it’s a fitting end, but it’ll certainly save the cost of one trial.”

Scarlett couldn’t help but smile, “Do you know, sometimes you’ve got the black humour of a cop. I keep telling you, you should join. You’d make a good cop.”

“No chance. I’ve had enough of rules and regulations to last me a lifetime. I’m happy doing what I’m doing, with the odd bit of private detective moonlighting and being a sheriff’s deputy when you need me.” He took a long drink of his beer. “Have you caught who’s responsible?”

Scarlett shook her head. “We think it’s all linked. You know, with those other two women we found murdered –the Lithuanian street worker and the headless woman in the suitcase we found in the Thames.”

Rose pushed herself up. “Headless woman in a suitcase?”

Scarlett gave Rose a potted version of recent events, for fear of alarming her. She didn’t tell her that one of the team may be a bent cop, whose leaks had probably caused two of the victims to be killed.

Rose hung onto every word. When she’d finished she said, “Wow Scarl. What a case. I know that kind of stuff went on but not this close to home.”

Rose’s comments made Scarlett sit up. She hadn’t thought of it like that. This was just her everyday work. She had never viewed it in proximity to where she lived before. It made her realise why some people get nervous when incidents happen around them. She took a drink of wine, glanced at her watch and then nodded to the TV. The sound had been muted. “It’s going to be on the ten o’clock news. Can we watch it? I’d like to see it if you don’t mind. The gaffer did a press conference this afternoon and I’d like to see what she said.”

Alex picked up the remote and switched channels. The news had just started; the anchor was announcing the headlines. After twenty seconds it flashed across to the local London studio and another broadcaster aired the Brixton Station Road murder as the main event.

For the next twenty minutes three pair of eyes were glued to the TV. Scarlett agitatedly sat through world events of a bird flu outbreak in China, escalation of fighting in Syria and more of the courtroom saga involving Nigella Lawson’s personal assistants. The national news finished with a weather forecaster warning of gale-force winds and heavy rain sweeping across Britain during the next forty-eight hours. Then it switched to the London local news. The opening shot was of the blue metal entrance door to the old abandoned Coborn Road railway station. A line of blue-and-white crime scene tape was fluttering in front of it and standing sentry was a highly visible police officer. Then it panned across to a dark-haired female reporter who was standing beside DCI Diane Harris. The reporter gave a brief introduction: “Here I am on Brixton Station Road. Earlier today, behind that blue door, police discovered the badly burned body of a man in the old station waiting room. With me I have Detective Chief Inspector Harris, who is leading the hunt for the killers.” Then the microphone was thrust towards Diane Harris. Without a hint of nerves the DCI delivered a clipped response, outlining that a passer-by had been alerted by the cries of the burning man, had found him on fire, and had called the police and fire brigade. She then elaborated on how horrific the murder was and how important it was they catch the culprits as soon as possible. Then she added, “At this moment in time, we are exploring a link to the discovery of a body we found in the cellar of a house in Wandsworth. We are currently trying to trace a number of people who visited and used these premises, whom we believe are of Eastern European origins. There may be also links to another murder we are investigating of a young woman and we have an e-fit of a man we want to trace who may have evidence crucial to that investigation.” The picture changed and one of the digital e-fits of the driver of the Audi Q7 appeared on screen.

Suddenly Rose stiffened.

Scarlett sensed it and she flashed a sideways glance. Rose was transfixed to the TV. Her hand was covering her mouth.

Scarlett said, “Rose what is it?”

“Him!” she exclaimed, pointing to the screen.

“What about
Him
?”

“Remember what I said, about that car that had pulled up and how two men were standing over Dad and he told me to run? Remember I said they were big and that one was taller than the other?”

Scarlett nodded.

“Well that picture they’ve just shown on the telly looks like the smaller of the two. I know it was eleven year ago, but I’m telling you Scarl, he looks dead like one of those I saw. Especially with the shaven head.”